Going Solo

In the vague attempt to get my groove back on in a ‘hey, look at me, I’m young free and single’ way, I went to a Six Nation State gig by myself in London. All I achieved was possibly making the front-man think I fancy him, because I vaguely know him and it’s the second gig of theirs I’ve been to solo.

‘Hey, Gerry!’

‘Hi! How are you? Thanks for coming! *idle chit-chat commences while I try desperately to look popular to a room full of strangers who’re all ignoring me, Look! I know the band* Who’re you here with?’

‘Oh, just me.’

‘.....oh, cool, right. *pause*....... didn’t you come alone last ti...’

‘yes. Yes I did.’

‘er.... right.... *backs away*... enjoy  the gig...’

*shouts after him * ‘There was a friend! There was! She was coming! She’s working late!......... I HAVE FRIENDS!’ *heads swivel*

Strangely enough, the room continued to ignore me after this point...

They played a good set though.

But, yeah. The going solo gigging? Not necessarily the fun I remember it being when I was young(er) free and single.

Seemingly just to re-iterate the point to myself that I’m getting old, and set in my ways, I also went out clubbing in Reading with my sister.

I discovered when you get a little older, and you’ve grown into yourself, awful music you’ve never really liked is harder to block out or pretend you enjoy. Instead, it grates on your very soul, and makes you feel sick to your centre. Which is a pity, because the music blocking used to go hand in hand with the beer goggles. Which means, all going out revealed for me, instead of a world of possibility and a night of potential giggles and groans with some handsome-in-the-moment-stranger, turned into one of those nightmares where the masks fall off and you see everyone is actually a gargoyle, and the club you went into was actually just an optical illusion, and you are in fact trapped in the inner circle of hell. With nothing but gargoyles. With popped collars, gold chains and awful hair. Did I mention the gargoyles?

After disentangling myself from two of them at kicking out time (let us never speak of this again) I found my sister (who is an occasional fuckwit) outside with two brothers, who she seemed to be swooning over, and who, (kindly, in view of there being no taxis) drove us home. Of course nothing in this life is free and they came in with us.

Cue this conversation held on facebook chat at 4.30 in the morning, after my sister had exhausted nearly all topics of conversation and had been reduced to parading a selection of new clothes purchases (including our matching leather jackets, yes, we’re very sad) in front of the brothers grim, and I could no longer bring myself to interact with the room.

Scar: Are you online? Why are you online? There’s a human? Online?

Ali: Apparently so. Why are you online at this time of night/morning?

‘...........’

‘Oh, yeah. You’re Scar. Mystery solved. Hiiiiiii!’

‘why are you up?’

‘I want to be asleep’

‘why aren’t you?’

‘There are men. They’re on my sleepy spot.’

‘?’

‘Men on the sofa. I sleep on that sofa. Blame my sister. She’s brought two brothers home and now they’re drinking tea and it’s fucking late and I’m SLEEPY! I think one of them fancies my sister, wish they’d hurry up and get on with the wooing.’

‘can’t you subtlety tell them it’s time to go? Yawn lots? Get a duvet?’

‘tried that. Crawled behind the sofa and came out wearing pyjamas. They’re still here.’

‘you could say something like "well, this has been great, but whichever one of you wants to shag my sister, please head to the bedroom, and the other one either cuddle me now or get the fuck out".’

‘Baaaaaaahhhhhahahhahahah! *shows message to sister*

Sister: ‘baaaahahhahahahahahhahahahah!’

Ali: well? Can I say it?

Sister: er, no.

At this point, my sister unadvisedly leaves the room, to wee, or re-arrange her bra, or, hopefully, to pacify her flatmate who by this point I can hear prowling about in her bedroom on the other side of the sitting room wall. I see my chance to get some sleep on the lovely red sofa that has actually started whispering my name...

‘So, which one of you two was intending on getting it on with my sister? Because you’ve left it kind of late to make your move, haven’t you? I’d get a wriggle on if I were you. I want to go to sleep.’

They looked very startled. In a sleepy sort of fashion.

But, one was duly led away by my sister (who reappeared in terribly unflattering tiny pjs – note to self, discuss her ‘company’ nightwear choices with her), and I made the ‘mistake’ of telling the remaining 6’4 chunk of brother that my sofa was longer than the one he was on. Which meant I got to go to sleep in manly arms, and I didn’t even have to kiss him. Because I feigned instant sleep.  Ah, modern women. We know what we want and we aren’t afraid to go get it! (*snooze, dribble, snore...*)   Still, manly arms were a nice change from *sigh* aloneness.